Wee Wooly Rabbit

Don't be afraid to be different

Little Bear

Whooo Meee?

"Little Golden Books" Kitty

Ellie & Friends ~ Vintage Pattern

Lucky Irish Rabbit

Nap Time Mouse

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Hi all, hope everyone had a pleasant Christmas. My husband and I spent the last few weeks battling a nasty cold but that didn't stop us from traveling to my mother-in laws place for the holidays. We spent a pleasant few days there and then headed back home...up and over the mountains. What a gorgeous drive it was...I love it when the sky clears on those high mountain passes...the trees are cloaked in snow and everything looks so brilliant...little diamonds sparkle in the drifts along the highway...

Arriving home after Christmas always makes me feel nostalgic and a bit forlorn. I think about the past year and wonder what the new year will hold. I think about all I have to be thankful for, all the things I did and all that has come to pass...

Then feelings of expectation and excitement run through me...a New Year, a whole new year, a fresh start. I sit and day dream about what I want to accomplish...no resolutions, just goals. What do I want to dedicate this year to? There are so many possibilities.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

The Frost performs its secret ministry,
Unhelped by any wind. The owlet’s cry
Came loud--and hark, again! loud as before.
The inmates of my cottage, all at rest,
Have left me to that solitude, which suits
Abstruser musings: save that at my side
My cradled infant slumbers peacefully.
’Tis calm indeed! so calm, that it disturbs
And vexes meditation with its strange
And extreme silentness. Sea, hill, and wood,

This populous village! Sea, and hill, and wood,
With all the numberless goings-on of life,
Inaudible as dreams! the thin blue flame
Lies on my low-burnt fire, and quivers not;
Only that film, which fluttered on the grate,
Still flutters there, the sole unquiet thing.
Methinks, its motion in this hush of nature
Gives it dim sympathies with me who live,
Making it a companionable form,
Whose puny flaps and freaks the idling Spirit
By its own moods interprets, every where
Echo or mirror seeking of itself,
And makes a toy of Thought.

But O! how oft,
How oft, at school, with most believing mind,
Presageful, have I gazed upon the bars,
To watch that fluttering stranger! and as oft
With unclosed lids, already had I dreamt
Of my sweet birth-place, and the old church-tower,
Whose bells, the poor man’s only music, rang
From morn to evening, all the hot Fair-day,
So sweetly, that they stirred and haunted me
With a wild pleasure, falling on mine ear
Most like articulate sounds of things to come!

So gazed I, till the soothing things, I dreamt,
Lulled me to sleep, and sleep prolonged my dreams!
And so I brooded all the following morn,
Awed by the stern preceptor’s face, mine eye
Fixed with mock study on my swimming book:
Save if the door half opened, and I snatched
A hasty glance, and still my heart leaped up,
For still I hoped to see the stranger’s face,
Townsman, or aunt, or sister more beloved,
My play-mate when we both were clothed alike!

Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side,
Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm,
Fill up the intersperséd vacancies
And momentary pauses of the thought!
My babe so beautiful! it thrills my heart
With tender gladness, thus to look at thee,
And think that thou shalt learn far other lore,
And in far other scenes! For I was reared
In the great city, pent ’mid cloisters dim,
And saw nought lovely but the sky and stars.

But thou, my babe! shalt wander like a breeze
By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags
Of ancient mountain, and beneath the clouds,
Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores
And mountain crags: so shalt thou see and hear
The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible
Of that eternal language, which thy God
Utters, who from eternity doth teach
Himself in all, and all things in himself.
Great universal Teacher! he shall mould
Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask.

Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops fall
Heard only in the trances of the blast,
Or if the secret ministry of frost
Shall hang them up in silent icicles,
Quietly shining to the quiet Moon.

by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1798)

I took these photos on Bonniebrook Beach near my house. An early morning walk revealed Mr.Frosts Handiwork.

Email Me

Subscribe

Follow by Email

Follow Susan on Facebook

Susan Pilotto is a mixed-media artist who specializes in creating one of a kind miniature animals from recycled wool felt fabric. Susan graduated from Vancouver's Capilano College with a Diploma in Studio Art.